


His Divine Embrace

by geniusbillionairegayboy



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Boundaries, Canon Asexual Character, M/M, Past Sexual Assault, Psychosis, Relationship Negotiation, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Male Character, psychotic character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24866167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniusbillionairegayboy/pseuds/geniusbillionairegayboy
Summary: Jonathan Sims is utterly terrible at expressing love, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel it.(I know the tags are a lot; this is just fluff upon fluff upon fluff.)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 23
Kudos: 157





	His Divine Embrace

**Author's Note:**

> Check the end notes for some spoiler-y explanation for tags if you're worried about sensitive content.

Being surrounded by Martin was blissful. Jon had known it would be, of course, given he spent the first few weeks of their relationship “forgetting” to return Martin’s jumpers and coats and scarves, bundling himself in layer upon layer in the privacy of his own flat, and then just existing in his simultaneous presence and absence while he went about his day. When his cat looked at him accusingly, he calmly informed her that it was only because his flat was drafty, something she obviously hadn’t noticed due to her fur coat. Even she didn’t seem to believe him. Still, he carried on telling himself it was too soon to indulge in physical affection the way he wanted to. It was somehow easiest to assume Martin would be put off by Jon acting so out of character as to search for constant attention and affection, especially given he’d only ever known Jon as - how had Tim phrased it - “more or less an emotionless robot.” That comment had  _ almost _ made Jon laugh as well as prompting a lecture from the ever-protective Martin about Tim’s word choice. In spite of everything, though, Martin fell for him. Flat-affect and all. Which begged the question: what if that was all he wanted? What if his expectations for Jon began and ended with robotics?

What a ridiculous thing to be worried about. What a ridiculous fear to be paralysed by for so long. Jon put off initiating any sort of touch for what felt like years but was closer to weeks, until he finally bit the bullet one day and grabbed Martin’s hand with as much of himself as he physically could, intertwining their fingers and wordlessly drawing himself impossibly close to his boyfriend, who lit up like a Christmas tree, or so it had seemed to Jon. That smile was going to be the death of him if the chain reaction he’d unwittingly set in motion didn’t kill him first.

From that point on, Martin started taking Jon’s hand every chance he got. It wasn’t the clingy type of handholding that Jon tended to initiate, but it still left him dizzy. Like Jon, he rarely said anything, only reached out and joined their hands together any time he could, beaming like a thousand suns whenever Jon deigned to look at him for an explanation, as if Martin needed any explanation for being so wonderful. Even if Jon did need some justification, though, looking for it was a fruitless endeavour. That damn smile stopped him in his tracks every single time it appeared, knocking him head over heels into stunned silence with ease.

He could only hope Martin was as adept at recognising Jon’s adoration even when unspoken as Jon was Martin’s, because there was simply no way his own smile could ever live up to those impossible standards. No one in existence could hope to compare to Martin’s intoxicating show of joy, in Jon’s unbiased opinion, but he was dead certain his smile in particular fell hopelessly short. His expression often did. That wasn’t something he minded all that much, truth be told, until the overwhelming urge to shower his boyfriend with adoration sank its claws into his chest, digging into pre-existing scars, and his difficulty expressing affection became suddenly, pressingly relevant. 

If only he could be like Martin, so masterful in his tacit love. His very presence filled every space he entered with calm and comfort so intense it seeped into Jon’s very being. So often he found himself scrambling for whatever nonexistent words might hope to explain the intensity of his feelings, only to see the solution echoed back at him in everything Martin did. Each time Martin entered his office without knocking to bring him tea, imparting excited ramblings and making his fingers at home in Jon’s unruly mess of hair, he yearned to demand a statement regarding how in the world Martin could communicate so much endearment with just a touch. It almost felt wrong not to say, “I love you too,” whenever Martin reminded him to drink his tea before it got cold and left his office, but like everything Jon wanted to say, it was too soon.

Despite his lack of skill in romance, though, he did his best, edging their physical comfort level forward bit by bit by silently and stiffly claiming more and more of Martin’s space each day. In the face of his overwhelming fear of pushing too far too fast, Jon found himself laying claim to Martin’s arm more and more often, standing closer and closer whenever the opportunity arose, once even briefly sitting in his lap. That particular action stole his voice for at least half an hour and rendered Martin a ruffled mess for a lot longer, but it was worth it without a doubt. And so the escalation continued.

Which brought him to his current predicament, so surrounded by Martin that he felt more like a part of a whole than an independent being. His heart was beating against his chest like a feral animal ramming itself at the wall of a flimsy cage and it seemed entirely plausible that it might just burst out. Martin’s hand landed over his fragile chest and Jon desperately hoped he’d imagined himself gasping.

“If this is making you uncomfortable, I can-” Martin began, voice so thick with worry that Jon couldn’t help interrupting him.

“ _ No! _ ” Martin froze all around him and Jon quickly adjusted his volume, lowering himself back down to the quiet of their embrace. “No,” he repeated, “I’m not at all uncomfortable, Martin, this is... exhilarating seems a strong word just for sitting with someone but I think it’s the right one.” 

His very existence thrummed with that dangerous vulnerability, his paranoia demanding he keep that a secret lest Martin use the knowledge that Jon had emotions against him. Martin’s considerate hum broke through his fear as the larger man enveloped Jon just a little more, pulling his back further into his chest by snaking his arms around Jon and trapping him in an all-encompassing embrace. In response, his pulse reached unfeasible levels, and over it he could only just hear Martin ask, “You’re sure? You’re not…”

When his boyfriend failed to come up with the right word, Jon inquired, “Are you going to ask if I’m frightened of you, Martin?” It seemed impossible.

When Martin moved ever so slightly again, tension re-entering his body, Jon realised he was physically feeling his partner’s emotions and his elation grew. Martin’s own nervousness thrummed all around him, inspiring an unspeakably raw kind of fondness in Jon that he knew instantly he’d never be able to name. “Not exactly,” Martin explained, stumbling from one word to the next, “I… um… You’re quite… small. Or, I’m… I thought this might be… well, I could see how it might be stress-inducing.” 

Shutting out the outside world with the fall of his eyelids, Jon assured Martin. “Quite the opposite. I know we’ve evolved beyond this, but you feel like safety. It would be a lie to say this doesn’t make me nervous at all, but… It’s good, Martin. You’re fine.”

The way Martin said, “Right,” sent a jolt of  _ something _ through Jon. That he might have such an effect on Martin - that his words might have such an effect on Martin that he was reduced to a single breathless “right” - that did feel like  _ something _ . 

It wasn’t often that Jon lacked the words to describe any situation he found himself in - read enough pointless ramblings and scholarly texts and you’re bound to grow your vocabulary enough to speak at length about just about any subject - but he was so far out of his depth when it came to Martin. To say he felt comfortable or safe or loved would be an understatement. More accurately he felt glorious, divine if he was feeling particularly poetic, and Martin did always seem to bring out the poet in him. Perhaps it was only because what he was feeling was so utterly foreign, but being with Martin felt like stepping into a different reality altogether. A higher, more important one, where nothing mattered more than their togetherness. It was a superior existence that Jon wasn’t keen on ever letting go of.

“Should… uh, should we get back on track?” Martin asked, and Jon finally remembered they’d been discussing boundaries before he’d noticed his own heartbeat and spiralled hopelessly into distraction. 

Straightening up ever so slightly and opening his eyes to the dim, evening light that illuminated his flat and the intertwined beings on his bed, Jon agreed, “Yes, we probably should.”

Again, things were quiet, and Jon was beginning to debate whether he should fall into Martin again or ask if he was still awake when Martin finally began, uncomfortably, “So I know you’re not on board with… um… y’know... but how about kissing? Wait. Have you ever kissed anyone?” Undeterred by his best efforts not to, Jon broke into laughter and Martin insisted, “It’s a reasonable question!” He sounded indignant but he was so very loose around Jon that it was hard to take that indignance seriously.

“It is!” Jon agreed, getting himself under control and tilting his chin up to look at Martin from below, who looked down to make momentary eye contact before flushing and averting his gaze quickly. He looked embarrassed. “I’m not laughing at you, Martin.”

“That can’t be a good view…”

“It’s a lovely view.”

Martin’s hand came to adjust Jon’s head and he snickered at his boyfriend’s distress, but allowed himself to be manhandled back into his original position, considering the whole endeavour worth it when a chin landed snugly on top of his head and completed his reabsorption. There was no one else. There was  _ nothing _ else. Jon was utterly, hopelessly secure in Martin’s being. “So.” The being’s voice was all around him. “If you weren’t laughing at me…”

“I wasn’t,” he repeated, voice so much smaller by comparison. Or was he whispering? Mumbling, maybe? He couldn’t quite tell, couldn’t focus on much besides being taken in by Martin. If not for the position they were in, he wasn’t sure the words he was holding back would’ve come pouring out like they did. “I hate this part. It’s been some time since I reached this point, with the- the discussions and the talking and… It sounds ridiculous out loud but everything else aside, you don’t have to worry about my lack of experience, Martin. Dare I say, I’m likely much more ‘experienced’ than you, in this particular area at least.”

“I… erm… sorry. You said you were asexual and I guess I assumed you hadn’t...” Martin trailed off, unsure.

“It’s quite alright,” Jon told him before he could get too worked up about an assumption that Jon was all too content with him having made. Though he lived with a constant, creeping suspicion that everyone knew the dirty truth about him, he also logically understood that most people heard “asexual” and assumed a lack of practical experience, especially when the ace person in question was openly repulsed by all things risque. Most people projected a kind of purity onto Jon that he couldn’t hope to claim, doing him a favour without ever realising it. He felt no desire to correct them. It wasn’t the intimate conversations he hated, really. It was breaking that perfect illusion. “My disinterest in sex is at least partially fuelled by my sexual history,” he elaborated finally.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Martin breathed. “Oh...” It wasn’t a pitying or belittling sound, just one of painful understanding, and when he tightened around Jon, the archivist felt true bliss. Where he’d expected shame and fear, he only found safety in the knowledge that Martin would neither judge him for his past nor allow anything like it to ever happen again. He was a good man. Better than the bunch. 

“I… It’s not that I’d be interested in sex were it not for past experiences.” Jon expounded. “I wouldn’t. It was never really my favourite thing in the world. I mean, an old therapist suggested more than once that I might regain some comfort with sexuality given the right treatment plan, but that doesn’t sound like a wholly worthwhile endeavour given I’m not too interested in copulation either way and have quite a few much more pressing topics to address in therapy. Not to mention, I’m actually quite comfortable with my discomfort with-” What Jon only then realised had turned into nervous rambling was cut off by Martin squeezing him. All of him. The little squeezes Martin sometimes gave Jon’s hand to drag him back into reality paled in comparison to how  _ that _ felt. “... Sorry.”

With a content hum that seemed to rattle Jon’s body, Martin soothed, “Don’t be. You don’t need to justify your decision; it’s yours to make.” While he spoke, Martin’s hand made its way to Jon’s side and easily overtook his rib cage, wrapping itself around his thin frame under their layers of clothes and limbs and blankets. His hand was so big. He was so big. Jon was melting. “Besides,” Martin continued, “You could say  _ it’s _ not my favourite thing in the world either. I’m not entirely averse to it, I don’t think, but I can definitely live without it.” 

Was Martin really too awkward to even say the word? That was… adorable. He was just so big and dumb and cute that Jon had to lift a hand to his face until his ridiculous grin subsided. Yes, this was the man he’d fallen in love with. The man who couldn’t even say “sex”. 

He laughed again and Martin asked, exasperated, “Still not laughing at me?”

Jon just nodded, knowing Martin would feel it.

“Well, in that case, you still haven’t answered my original question,” Martin said, which might’ve been a helpful reminder if Jon had even the faintest idea what he was talking about. How Martin expected him to remember the topic of conversation when his fingers were dancing over Jon’s ribs in repetitive, soothing motions, Jon didn’t know.

So, he languidly prompted, “Which was…”

“Is kissing on the table?”

For the first time in a while, Jon took the time to actually think, to drag his mind above the daze of Martin’s embrace and consider his options. It didn’t take long to decide, “I usually find kissing uninteresting, but…”

“But?”

“Well, don’t flatter yourself too much, but you’re an exception in a lot of ways, Martin.”

The moment he was done speaking, the warmth that had surrounded Jon for so long withdrew itself and he fought back the childish whine that immediately threatened to escape. Martin was no longer encompassing him and Jon was so shocked by his sudden isolation that he couldn’t find the words to protest this change. Luckily, he didn’t have to. The same hands that had just enclosed Jon with protection turned him around by his shoulders until, suddenly, he was up against Martin again in quite a different way. Their noses bumped together and Jon tried not to collapse onto the bed beneath himself as heat rose to his cheeks. This was made difficult by the way his arms and legs had suddenly turned to noodles.

In an uncharacteristic moment of charisma, Martin said, “Well then, Mr. Sims, let’s see if I can’t show you what proper kissing is like.” Before Jon could laugh at his attempted smoothness, their lips met.

It was divine.

**Author's Note:**

> The "psychosis" and "psychotic character" tags apply to Jon. His psychosis isn't explicitly discussed but his symptoms are relevant to this fic.  
> The "trans male character" tag also applies to Jon. Also not explicitly stated but alluded to.  
> And last but not least, "past sexual assault" refers to a very, very brief, non-graphic mention of Jon's uncomfortable past with sex.
> 
> Author is sex-repulsed asexual and psychotic, so if you have any qualms with the way I represent myself, I don't care. uwu


End file.
